“Now, you make sure to let Declan catch some fish every once in a while. You can be such a greedy ass sometimes,” I say, and he lets out a low growl. Whatever, it’s the truth.
Fisher came by his name honestly. From the time he was a puppy, we couldn’t keep him out of the water. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the amount of fishing trips he’s ruined. We didn’t have a chance in hell of catching anything with that foolish dog gallivanting and splashing in the water. It wasn’t long until he started catching fish on his own, though. I’ve never seen a dog catch a fish before. He’s so tenacious, absolutely relentless; I think he finally just wears them down. But if he’s anywhere near the pond, there’s no need to even unload a pole. Nobody’s catching anything but him.
“I’ve gotta go, Fisher. You know I have to do it. I won’t deny, there’s a little bit of country in me, but I crave the city,”
He releases a sigh of concession and inevitability. See? Human. I pull on his ear as I drop my hands, only to have him nudge me with his nose. He’s such a cuddle whore. I bet he’ll grab his head pets and ear scratches from just about anyone once I’m gone. It may sound silly, but the thought makes me jealous.
“You need to be extra sweet to Nana, too, because she’s hurting.” I swear the dog rolls his eyes at me. I swear it. “I know it’s my fault, Fisher. Jeez! But I can’t feel bad about wanting to know Evelyn. She’s so … so … cultured, and, I don’t know, glamorous. The thought of her and Dad together is so ridiculous. How could they ever think they belonged together? It’s no wonder I’m a jumbled mess of contradictions. I’m just like them—their DNA is all mixed together in my blood, making me question where I really belong. It’s like Jessica Simpson and Lady Gaga had a love child with an identity crisis. So it’s not my fault. It’s all on them.”
It’s obvious Fisher doesn’t buy my rationale, but it’s as close to the truth as I can get. I don’t know exactly why I’d said yes to Evelyn when she’d sent me the brochure for Orleans Academy. Does it really matter, anyway? She and her new husband had offered to pay my tuition, and I’m curious. Curious about a new life in a completely different place; curious about a mother I never knew with a life that sounds so intriguing; curious to see if I’m really a loner, or if I’m just a square peg trying to wedge myself into the round hole that is China, Texas.
It also doesn’t hurt that the school is one of the most prestigious of its kind in the South. A diploma from Orleans Academy opens doors that may otherwise be closed to me. After the entrance exam, multiple telephone interviews, and rigorous selection process, I’d felt wrung the hell out. But when that acceptance letter had arrived in our mailbox, it was like the winning lottery ticket. A lottery ticket that I’d worked my ass off for, that is. It’s funny—when I’d started filling out the mile-long application, I hadn’t been sure I wanted to spend my senior year of high school away from home. But the further I’d gotten into the process, the more I’d wanted it. Who climbs to the top of the mountain only to decide they prefer flat land?
Not me.
So I’m going.
“I’m going. I love you, but I’m going,” I say to Fisher in a stern voice. He saunters away and drops into a heap on the porch, watching the sun rising and ignoring the hell out of me.
I guess Nana’s not the only one who’ll need some time.
Marlo
DAD’S TRUCK BARELY fits down the streets of the Quarter, and my gut clenches as we narrowly miss garbage trucks and delivery vans. I’m not sure if it’s my nerves or the frantic start and stop of the truck, but I’m queasy. Orleans Academy is situated in the middle of the Quarter, which makes it walking distance, to … well, everything.
I watch the happenings of the city from inside the fishbowl of my dad’s truck, and even as a mere spectator, I feel more alive, more elated than I ever have before. The mixture of music, blaring horns, and people shouting electrify the air, feeling lazy and frenetic all at once. Lush planters hang from wrought iron balconies, in direct contrast with the miles and miles of concrete. The buildings and roads are cracked and mildewed in a way that makes the city feel like a living, breathing thing with a million stories to tell, spanning hundreds of years. I swear, if I stare long enough, I can see the lungs of the city rising and falling in the crevices of the roads, as if the need to breathe and live is what cracked the concrete to begin with.
“Hot damn, Low, this place is something else. It’s been so long since I’ve been to New Orleans, I’d forgotten how crazy it is,” Dad says as his eyes follow a man with dreads to his butt and tattoos creeping up his neck, passing another man in a three-piece suit, carrying a briefcase. “You sure about this, sugar?”
He looks petrified, like he would love to slam on the accelerator and leave this city in the dust. As his eyes take me in, I know he’s seeing his little girl, eight years old with pigtails and way too young to be left all alone. I give him a sympathetic smile.
“I’m sure, Dad. I’m gonna be fine. Between the teachers at school and Evelyn, I know I’ll be perfectly safe,” I say, trying my best to reassure him.
“Whoa, I’m pretty sure that woman is a hooker! She’s gotta be, right? Roll down the window, Low. I wanna ask her,” Declan says with way too much excitement as he points at a passerby.
I punch his shoulder and scowl. “Shut your pie hole, dude. If I roll down this window, I’m throwing your skinny ass out of it.”
“Language,” Dad mutters, and I just laugh.
We amble down the busy hallway of Boozman Residence Hall as I clutch my room key in one hand and the campus map in the other. Dad and Declan follow close behind with my trunk.
The residence hall has a utilitarian feel—white walls, terrazzo floors, and white boards adorning each door. Some of the boards already sport hearts, flowers, and welcome back messages for its occupants. The building consists of four floors. The first two floors are the male quarters, and the third and fourth are for the girls. While Dad and Declan drag my trunk up three flights of stairs, I notice a small kitchen nestled in the corner opposite the stairwell. Hmm, that may come in handy.
Room 301 … room 301…
“What room are you looking for?”
I look up to answer, but the girl grabs my key out of my hand before I can speak. She regards me with a familiarity that’s a bit off-putting, since I’ve never seen this girl before in my life. Her cat eyeliner and Rolling Stones tongue T-shirt tugging across her ample chest scream bodacious babe, and her jeans have more holes than a fishing net. I elbow Declan in the ribs in an attempt to get him to close his mouth and wipe his drool. He barely registers the dig.
“301, just what I thought. You’re with me, roomie,” she says with an outstretched hand and perfectly painted, glossy red nails. “I’m Delilah. We’re the very first room at the start of the hall.”
“I’m Low.” I shake her hand, and she squeezes tightly when I try to pull away. She drags me down the hall, chattering the entire way, and I look over my shoulder at Dad and Declan with a raised eyebrow. I get a noncommittal shoulder shrug from Dad in return. Declan continues to stare at Delilah’s ass.
“Amy had this whole, ‘hoarder’ thing going on last semester,” Delilah says, using one-handed air quotes since she’s refused to let go of me. “When the RA found her mountain of chewed Hubba Bubba, I had a feeling she wasn’t coming back. Seriously, she left half the hall with only right shoes. Who collects all the lefties? Amy, that’s who.”
“A mountain of bubble gum? That’s … ew,” I reply with disgust, and the teeniest bit of fascination.
“Shhh! We don’t talk about it. It’s impolite,” Delilah scolds, placing a red-nailed finger to her pursed lips.
But wasn’t she … but I just … ah, forget it.
“Anyway, Charlotte and I figured we were getting the new girl since Amy was our old roommate. A little tip—don’t call Charlotte Lottie. She really doesn’t like that.”
The way Delilah shivers makes me think she’
s learned her lesson. Charlotte must be a real ball buster.
“Wait, there are three of us in the room?” I thought there were only two students to each dorm room.
Delilah smiles. “Yep. The room’s a little bigger than the other ones, though, and we get our own bathroom. No community showers, so, score!” She says with a fist pump.
I flash her a genuine smile, because not sharing a bathroom with fifty other girls sounds fantastic. Things are getting off to a great start already. She swings open the first door on the left, the whiteboard clanging against the wood.
“Look who I found wandering around the hallway, Lottie. Can I keep her? Please?”
The girl, presumably Charlotte, sits ramrod straight at a desk piled with open books and binders, and crooks her head toward the door. She growls, actually growls, at Delilah and shoots daggers with her eyes. Severe bangs and pencil-straight, jet-black hair seem fitting. When her gaze shifts to me, I can’t help the tiny shudder that runs through me. Shit, I may have to sleep with one eye open.
The room consists of a set of bunk beds on one wall and a single bed on the opposite wall. The bottom bunk juts out into the room, leaving space for a desk underneath. There are two other desks along the hallway wall, along with two tiny fridges stacked on top of each other. The top bunk is the only one undressed, so I guess that’s going to be my bed. I’m not picky, so that suits me just fine.
“Lights out at 10:30, no exceptions. I have a study group in our room every Tuesday and Thursday night. You can join in, but only if you’re serious. If you’re not, make yourself scarce.” Charlotte looks around the room, and then her gaze lands back on me. “Other than that, don’t eat my food. Got it?”
I’ve got two choices here. I can shrink back and nod, and spend the rest of the semester catering to Charlotte’s rules and whims. Or I can push back and show her she’s not the only one with boundaries around here. I’ve never been a girl’s girl, and I hate to start off being a prickly bitch, so maybe I should swallow my words … and my pride.
Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.
“I’ll probably be asleep by 10:30 most nights anyway, but this isn’t camp or prison, so I won’t commit to that. I’ve always been a loner when it comes to studying, so I’ll probably bow out of your study sessions. But I won’t be leaving the room,” I say, then scan the room in much the same way Charlotte did only seconds ago. “Other than that, don’t screw with my clothes and makeup. Got it?”
Time stutters as Delilah ogles me with an open mouth and wide eyes. Charlotte’s expression is calculating … unreadable.
My dad shoves my shoulder and shout whispers, “Low!”
Declan chuckles under his breath and mutters, “Man, she’s gonna slice you up in your sleep.”
I look over my shoulder to shush them both when Charlotte’s yelping laughter takes me by surprise. She points at me knowingly and shakes her head.
“I like this one, Delilah. And, for the record, she’s not lost. She’s way too mouthy to be a stray.”
Charlotte twists in her chair and gets back to work without another word. I shuffle out of the doorway and signal my dad and Declan to set the trunk inside, all while Delilah stares at me, dumbfounded.
“I don’t understand. Do you know how long it took Charlotte to admit she liked me? Months! And piles and piles of laundry washed.”
“Nobody likes a pushover, Delilah,” Charlotte says over her shoulder, then mumbles, “Unless she cleans your clothes for you.”
Yeah, I’ll fit right in.
“Remember what Nana told you about those street performers … and … and … that dope. Oh, and boys. Boys are the devil, Low,” Dad stammers, shooting a hateful glance at the cars blowing their horns behind him.
“Get out the fucking way!” Silver Datsun yells.
“Language!” Dad yells out the window and settles back on me. “A bunch of damn animals,” he says, looking frantic and forlorn.
I lay my hand over his on the open window. “I’ve got this, Dad. I’m gonna be fine.”
“Oh, I know you will, baby girl. But there’s a part of me that wonders if I’m dropping you off in hell, with dynamite in your britches. You’re all fire, girl, and that makes your old dad worry.” Dad jerks when another horn blares, and then puts the truck in gear. “Evelyn will check on you later today, okay? I love you … so much, Marlo.”
“Me, too, Dad. Me, too,” I say as he slowly pulls away. The aching in my chest grows with each second. It’s hard to look at him without bursting into tears.
This is what I want. This is what I want. This is exactly what I need.
I turn my gaze to Declan who gives me an official salute and a “See ya!”
I wonder if Declan will take Evelyn up on her offer when the time comes. As he reaches up and slaps the top of the truck with a “yee haw,” I think the answer is a resounding no. Past the side-show entertainment, Declan has no interest in the city, moving away, or even our mother.
And I stand alone on the bustling city sidewalk surrounded by the smell of burning exhaust and cooking grease, laced with the faintest tinge of urine … and as foul as that may sound, it’s beginning to smell like home.
Marlo
“SO, CAFETERIA RULES—break them at your own risk,” Delilah says as she walks backward, facing Charlotte and me on our way to the dining hall.
The school is compact; the buildings are only a stone’s throw from each other with covered walkways. Each building is a side to a square city block with a courtyard in the center. It’s filled with black, wrought iron benches, brick pavers with green moss crawling through the cracks, and an overabundance of potted plants and hanging ferns. Very New Orleans.
“Jeez, Delilah, would you shut it with all the lists? She’ll be packing up and bolting before the first day of classes.”
“I’m not the one who tried to kick her out of her room for your blessed study groups. I’m the sweet one who imparts valuable knowledge on the newbie. You’re the insufferable shrew who made me wash your clothes for a full semester.”
“It was two years ago! Isn’t it about time you let it go? Honestly, I thought you would have been more pissed about the caramel corn,” Charlotte says.
“I knew that was you!”
“Again, years ago.”
Delilah looks flushed and frustrated, while Charlotte is the picture of calm. As they face off in a battle from the past, I compare my new roommates.
Delilah and Charlotte—First Impressions
1. Delilah’s outfit screams, “I’m with the band,” while “Cherry Pie” plays as background music. Charlotte’s tailored pants and oxford shirt say “I’m on the debate team.”
2. Delilah’s personality oozes frazzled sweetness, and Charlotte’s seeps diabolical strategy with a touch of kindness … way, way deep down.
3. Delilah’s bottom bunk, with its pink ruffles and vintage R.E.M. posters, tell the story of a princess with a funky edge. Charlotte’s perfectly aligned bookcases and no-nonsense cinched sheets and bed linens tell me she was a drill sergeant in a former life.
“…and avoid the first two tables. Those seats are for freshmen and the freaks,” Delilah says as she ticks off the rules on her fingers. Judging by her expression, I guess she’s not talking about the good kind of freak. By my count, I’ve missed the first three rules while daydreaming, so it looks like I’ll be winging it. “And last, but not least, never ever visit the salad bar after Gold Digging Gary.”
“Gold Digging Gary?”
“He puts his mitts all over the lettuce and all up his…” Delilah opts for show-and-tell by jamming her finger up her nose.
I grab her hand and jerk it back before she gets too far. “No need for the replay. You’ll poke your brain with those bloody talons.”
Delilah rolls her eyes. She ushers Charlotte and me through the cafeteria door like royalty, with a deep curtsy and a solemn head bow. Chairs screech across the cafeteria floor accompanied by clanging utensils, both making
the constant chatter of students sound more like a low hum than a raucous reunion of friends. Electricity charges the massive room as old schoolmates reunite and share stories of the summer. Ready or not, here it comes—it’s time to be the new kid.
Although it has the familiar feel of any school eatery, this cafeteria looks to be top notch. High end or not, all cafeterias carry the same aroma of hot buns and spaghetti—with the fat noodles, not those puny, skinny things. I’m sure the peanut butter balls rolled in powdered sugar are somewhere close by. With just a quick glance, I see a pizza station, salad bar, and what looks to be a Mexican set up.
With no Gold Digging Gary in sight, I opt for the salad and potato bar. I scan the rows of tables as I hold my tray to my stomach. Delilah waves me over from the far corner, and I navigate the pushed out chairs and curious glances to meet her.
“I saved you a seat,” Delilah says as she pats the chair to the right of her.
Charlotte rolls her eyes and stabs her cantaloupe. “If you haven’t noticed, Low, you’re Delilah’s new project. Good luck with that. If she gets on your nerves, you have my permission to smack her.”
“Feel free to smack me, too, new girl. Any time you want,” says the newest addition to the table. Dancing green eyes and a playful smile greet me as he swings the chair around and sits backward in the chair next to Charlotte. “Especially if that smack is accompanied with a pinch and a pull. Can I specify what I want you to pull?”
I bark out a laugh, completely unoffended. Regardless of his words, I can tell this guy is cool, not creepy. Delilah lights up with his smile, and Charlotte is all too interested in shuffling fruit around her plate. Oh yeah, I know this guy. Every school has one.
Low Over High (The Over Duet #1) Page 2
